


I'm a mess (it ain't new)

by moonythejedi394, winter_sergeant



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Art, BAMF Natasha Romanov, BDSM, Belts, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes's Metal Arm, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2019, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Discipline, Don't copy to another site, Embedded Images, Emotional Porn, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Jock Straps, M/M, No Smut, No Thanos, Not Canon Compliant, Oblivious Bucky Barnes, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Precious Peter Parker, Punishment, Safewords, Sam Wilson is a Gift, Saps in love, So is Bucky, Spanking, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is Dumb, Sub Steve Rogers, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, america's ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 22:01:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19093966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonythejedi394/pseuds/moonythejedi394, https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_sergeant/pseuds/winter_sergeant
Summary: Here's the thing. Bucky Barnes is good at three (3) things. Shooting things, throwing things, and avoiding things. Shooting and throwing things is sort of obvious; he's 99 and 70 of those years he spent as the world's greatest assassin. These days, he's the world's second best assassin, but that's entirely his fault, the student surpassed the master, blah blah, Natasha stop smirking. Avoiding things? His therapist says that. Every time Bucky has an even remotely red-blooded thought about Steve. Because he has a lot of them. And they're not nice. If he inexplicably thought of just fondling Steve's ass while jerking off, that would be one thing, but Bucky usually thinks of bringing a switch to his ass and that's less than stellar. His therapist says he should talk to Steve about these vivid thoughts, because they're very vivid for Bucky's imagination, and Bucky always laughs at the idea.Of course, if Buckydidsay something to Steve, Steve would've brought him the switch and begged because 70 years is a long time to go without getting flogged.





	I'm a mess (it ain't new)

**Author's Note:**

> _guys i'm so excited to finally share with you my contribution to the Captain America Reverse Big Bang!! this piece was inspired by the art of[winter_sergeant](https://winter-sergeant.tumblr.com/) and it's been amazing working with them; enjoy!_

#  **_I’m a mess (it ain’t new)_ **

 

 

“The robot,” Clint said.

 

“The giant lizard,” Bucky countered.

 

“Fifteen?” Clint replied.

 

Bucky tipped his head to the side. “Ehh,” he mused.

 

“Twenty,” Clint added.

 

“Ehhhh,” Bucky continued.

 

“Pal, I don’t get paid as much as you do!” Clint persisted.

 

Sam looked up from his phone. “We get paid?!”

 

“BARTON, STOP TALKING ABOUT YOUR SALARY!” Tony screamed in the distance.

 

“WE GET PAID?!” Sam screamed, launching up from his chair and running towards the cockpit of the quinjet.

 

“Now you’ve done it,” Bucky sighed.

 

“Thirty,” Clint tried.

 

Bucky stuck his hand out. Clint grabbed it and shook.

 

“What are you even betting on?” Steve asked from across the jet.

 

“What you’ll jump on first,” Clint said happily.

 

Steve turned his gaze on Bucky and, raising his eyebrows, stuck his head out like a confused giraffe. Bucky shrugged.

 

“Why you gotta play ‘im like that, man?” Clint demanded.

 

“You proposed the bet!” Bucky countered with indignation.

 

Steve crossed his arms over his chest and looked away, lips pursed in a firm pout. Bucky sighed and shook his head, looking in the other direction.

 

Clint leaned in really, really closely to Bucky, and whispered, his lips right against Bucky’s ear, “Why does the Man With A Plan look like he plans to put rat poison in your morning coffee?”

 

“ _Je_ sus, Clint!” Bucky gasped, clapping a hand over his ear and jumping two feet in the other direction. “Don’t just fucking whisper in a man’s ear like that!”

 

“He’s liable to stab you,” Steve said in a petulant voice.

 

“Why would I stab him?” Bucky asked, confused. “Did I stab you? When did you whisper all close-like in my ear and I stab you?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I was being sarcastic,” he drawled.

 

Bucky looked at Clint. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said.

 

Clint just shrugged. Bucky shrugged back. Steve sighed heavily across the jet.

 

“THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN, YOU’RE PAYING THOSE ASSHOLES A HUNDRED K A YEAR?” Sam screeched. "I GET EIGHTY!"

 

“You get paid a hundred grand a year?” Clint asked in disbelief.

 

“I don’t honestly know,” Bucky admitted, “Steve does the books, he’s better at math.”

 

“I’m not _better_ at math, you just hate it,” Steve countered.

 

“I can’t multiply,” Bucky insisted.

 

Steve stuck his tongue out at Bucky. Bucky made an offended noise.

 

“You’re _supposed_ to be mature adults,” Natasha sighed. “You’re both over a hundred years old.”

 

“That punk?” Bucky said, leaning forward to look at her. “Mature? Please.”

 

Steve stuck his tongue out further and blew a raspberry at Bucky. Bucky just rolled his eyes.

 

“I vaguely remember that meaning I was allowed to punish you with something,” he said.

 

Steve’s expression went suddenly blank. Bucky frowned at him.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing,” Steve said in a very unconvincing tone.

 

Bucky pushed up out of his seat and crossed the jet in two steps, plopping into the seat next to Steve. Steve went red and Bucky leaned in close to squint at him.

 

“What?” Steve asked, looking sideways towards Bucky.

 

“I’m remembering half of something and you’re concealing the other half,” Bucky said suspiciously.

 

Steve shrugged extremely unconvincingly.

 

“Tell me!” Bucky insisted, poking Steve in the ribs.

 

“Ow!” Steve yelped; he smacked at Bucky’s hand. “Cut it out, jerk!”

 

“Tell me, ya little punk!” Bucky demanded, poking Steve in the shoulder.

 

“Stop it!” Steve countered.

 

“Children, I will separate you,” Natasha called.

 

Bucky froze, looked at her with deer-in-headlight eyes, and then grabbed Steve in a headlock.

 

“HEY!” Steve shouted in complaint, though it was rather strangled.

 

“Ohmygod,” Natasha sighed, slowly covering her eyes.

 

“TELL ME!” Bucky shouted.

 

“SAM!” Clint yelled.

 

“I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD,” Sam yelled back, his voice nearing, “IF I COME IN THERE AND YOU HAVE YOUR BROTHER IN A HEADLOCK!”

 

“Brother?” Steve wheezed.

 

“My pet goat, at the very most!” Bucky shouted.

 

“GOAT?” Steve wheezed even more indignantly.

 

Natasha pulled something from her belt. Too late, Bucky recognized the flash grenade. Natasha pulled the pin and tossed it into the center of the cargo bay. Like fools, Steve, Clint, Bucky, and even Sam, who had just walked in, all looked at it.

 

“Boom,” Natasha said emotionlessly.

 

The flash grenade exploded and Bucky clapped one hand over his eyes, the other over Steve’s. Sam screamed in a high-pitched tone and Bucky heard a very Clint-esque thud across the cargo bay.

 

“WHO THE FUCK SET OFF A GRENADE IN THE FUCKING JET?” Tony screamed.

 

“I’m retiring,” Bucky mumbled.

 

“Going with you,” Steve replied.

 

*

 

Exhausted, blood trickling into his eye, the other eye twitching, and covered in lizard guts, Bucky fell into six seats on the quinjet and half-heartedly pulled a single belt over his ribcage. Clint’s annoying limber boots strode right up to him and shoved something paper-y into the back of his jacket. He very neatly danced out of the way before Bucky could instinctively break his wrist, fortunately.

 

“Fuck you,” Clint said tiredly.

 

Bucky, wrist-breaking urge gone, twisted just enough to tug the thirty bucks he won out of his jacket. “Thanks, pal,” he called.

 

“You’re fuckin’ welcome,” Clint and Steve called at the same time.

 

“I don’t think it should count if he jumped on the lizard specifically so Bucky would win,” Sam commented.

 

“Well, he could’a not jumped on anything at all!” Bucky said. “But fuck me if Steve Rogers could avoid putting his skin on the line for one afternoon!”

 

“Fuck you,” Steve grumbled, his voice very close.

 

Bucky let out an “Oof!” as all the breath was knocked out of him and Steve full-bodied collapsed on top of him. Wheezing, Bucky weakly tried to reach up and bat Steve away. Steve grabbed his hand and tossed it in the other direction, then annoyingly squirmed on top of Bucky until he was, apparently, more comfortable.

 

“You’re killing me,” Bucky hissed.

 

“Smile!” Natasha called.

 

“Fuck you,” Steve told her.

 

“I’m live Tweeting,” Natasha informed him.

 

“Uh, actually,” Peter the Kid piped up, “you’re live-streaming, Miss Black Widow, ma’am. Not Tweeting.”

 

“Whatever it’s called,” Natasha said.

 

“Fuck you,” Steve simply repeated.

 

“You’re just tearing down every image of Captain America there is,” Clint said.

 

Steve squirmed even more and tucked his head into Bucky’s hair. “Fuck Captain America,” he mumbled.

 

“Love to,” Bucky wheezed. “‘Specially since he’s still squishing me!”

 

“You’d love to fuck me?” Steve countered.

 

Bucky’s brain short-circuited. _Fuck yes,_ he almost said. Or, _I would, but you’re actually topping_ **_me_ ** _right now._ Or simply, “Guh?”

 

“I think you’re suffocating him,” Sam sighed. “You should probably get off.”

 

“No,” Steve muttered.

 

Bucky waved a hand vaguely, somehow trying to communicate _Let him top me_ or _Let him sleep,_ either would have been fine.

 

“NATALIE RUSHMAN, STOP LIVE-STREAMING CLASSIFIED DEBRIEFINGS!” Tony screamed.

 

“What’s classified about Captain America fucking the Winter Soldier?” Natasha asked calmly. “Or smothering, depending on how you look at it.”

 

“Motherfucking…” Bucky wheezed.

 

“I’m not that heavy,” Steve protested.

 

“Punk!” Bucky hissed loudly.

 

Steve squirmed some more, and suddenly Bucky could breathe again. He sucked in a long breath as Steve fell between him and the wall and just cozied up to him.

 

“I think we’re all missing something here,” Clint announced.

 

Bucky stuck his middle finger up, twisted around to face Steve, and then stuck his arm out. Steve, similarly to how he made his entire body fit behind his shield, made his entire body fit in Bucky’s armpit.

 

“That’s cute,” Natasha said emotionlessly.

 

“NO GRENADES!” Tony screeched over the intercom.

 

“WE CAN HEAR YOU JUST FINE WHEN YOU YELL!” Sam yelled back, into the intercom.

 

“OH, REALLY?” Tony screamed back. “BECAUSE YOU DON’T FUCKING SEEM TO LISTEN TO ME!”

 

“I SAID WE COULD HEAR YOU, NOT THAT WE LISTENED!”

 

“Make them stop,” Steve whined.

 

“Guys, shut up,” Bucky called.

 

Steve patted Bucky’s nose. Bucky batted his hand away hastily.

 

“Don’t touch my nose, punk, you don’t know where it’s been.”

 

“‘S been on your face,” Steve mumbled.

 

“It’s got lizard guts on it,” Bucky insisted.

 

“I got lizard guts on my hand,” Steve countered.

 

“Then I definitely have guts on it,” Bucky said. “Here –”

 

He stuck his nose into Steve’s hair and snorted hard. Steve burst into giggles and shoved him off the seat. Bucky yelped, until his seatbelt caught him part way off and jerked him back.

 

“Ha!” he called and grabbed Steve to haul himself back up.

 

“That’s adorable,” Natasha commented blandly.

 

Bucky pulled a grenade from his belt, squinted at it, then put it back and grabbed another. This one was just smoke, so he pulled the pin and tossed it over his shoulder.

 

“Grenade!” Peter shouted.

 

“NO FUCKING GRENADES INSIDE THE JET!” Tony screamed. “WHAT DID I JUST FUCKING SCREAM AT YOU?”

 

The grenade exploded and smoke hissed out, filling the cargo bay. Distantly, Tony let out several pterodactyl screeches. Steve huffed.

 

“That stuff smells awful,” he complained.

 

Bucky pinched Steve’s nose.

 

“Fhanks,” Steve mumbled in a nasal tone.

 

“You’re welcome, punk,” Bucky said in a pleasant tone.

 

When the smoke cleared, Sam, Clint, Natasha, and the small Spiderkid had fucked off. Bucky released the seatbelt and fell intentionally onto the floor.

 

“What did you do that for?” Steve demanded.

 

“Give you more space,” Bucky said, settling onto his back. “What?”

 

“Whatever,” Steve muttered.

 

Bucky squinted at Steve’s shoulders, pretty much the only thing he could see with the edge of the seats in his line of sight.

 

“Are you pouting?” he asked.

 

“No,” Steve mumbled.

 

“I’m missing something very obvious,” Bucky realized.

 

“It’s okay,” Steve answered.

 

“Super obvious,” Peter the Spiderkid said.

 

Bucky let out a very unmanly yelp and flopped around for a second on the floor until he located the Spider kid, sitting on the ceiling and munching on a sandwich.

 

“How long have you been there?” he demanded.

 

“The entire time,” Peter said.

 

Bucky gawked at him.

 

“I’m not the only obvious thing you’re missing,” Peter added.

 

“It’s nothing,” Steve muttered.

 

“I’m lost,” Bucky said.

 

“Doesn’t matter,” Steve added.

 

Bucky sometimes had moments like this. There would be something, like this, right in front of his face, but the Human Social Etiquette tidbit would be in one of the holes in his Swiss Cheese and Scrambled Egg brain. Like the time that he tossed out a jar of blue cheese because it had been moldy and everyone stepped around him for days because they thought he was suspicious of poison in his food. Or the time he broke the TV trying to get it to stop playing some annoying cartoon by putting his foot through it and everyone stepped around him for days because they were worried he was suspicious of subliminal messaging in TV programs. Or the time he tossed Clint into a dumpster off a building, because it had been full of trash bags and would have given him a soft landing and he needed off the building anyway, and Clint got both incredibly offended and incredibly impressed.

 

The point. Bucky missed a lot of things and people tend to not tell him afterwards. It’s very frustrating, because he just didn’t get things like good mold or off-buttons sometimes, and often it had nothing to do with the Soldier.

 

Granted, he still locked himself in his room for days at a time after his therapy sessions sometimes, but that wasn’t because he suspected any of his teammates of anything. Not them, not much of anyone. Other than himself.

 

Steve was now upset about something. Bucky was failing to see what that something was. He could be tired, he could have accidentally ingested lizard guts when he jumped on the giant lizard and was sick from it, he could be cold and Bucky’s rolling off the seats had made it worse. Bucky would guess a variety of things, but probably not the actual thing.

 

Peter finished his sandwich in the awkward silence and then crawled across the ceiling to sit upside down in front of Bucky. Bucky grunted absently in his direction. Steve remained silent.

 

“You okay, Mr. Captain, sir?” Peter asked cautiously.

 

“Yeah,” Steve grunted.

 

“You didn’t seriously just call him _Mr. Captain, sir?_ ” Bucky questioned.

 

“Uh,” Peter answered.

 

“Leave the kid alone,” Steve said.

 

“Sure thing, Mr. Captain, sir,” Bucky repeated mockingly.

 

“Is this bullying?” Peter voiced pointedly.

 

Bucky frowned at him. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “What’s bullying?”

“Uh,” Peter repeated, looking genuinely confused.

 

“Hitler,” Steve announced.

 

“I think Hitler was a bit more than a bully,” Peter said quietly.

 

“Trump,” Steve suggested again.

 

“Ehh,” Peter replied. “Maybe the same thing?”

 

Steve waved a hand. “Tall-Tommy Golpeski,” he said.

 

“Who?” Peter asked.

 

Bucky made a face at Peter, but not really at him, more just straight ahead and Peter was in the line of fire. “Piano,” he declared. It was as much as he could associate with the name Tall-Tommy, but whether that was because he played the piano or had one dropped on him, Bucky couldn’t tell.

 

Steve pushed up, looking at Bucky with raised eyebrows and an open mouth. Bucky made the confused face at him instead.

 

“What?”

 

“What’s piano got to do with Tall-Tommy?” Steve asked, sounding suddenly excited.

 

Bucky just shrugged. “I dunno, I’m missin’ that bit.”

 

Steve’s face fell for a brief fraction of a second, then he quickly schooled it into a forced smile. “He used to make fun of me for knowing how to play piano,” he said in a soft voice. Then he lay down again. “It’s not a big deal.”

 

Bucky got that bit. Steve had gotten hopeful for just a second that Bucky had magically unlocked a new memory. He hadn’t, so Steve was disappointed. Bucky almost regretted saying anything at all. He hated disappointing Steve.

 

“That is bullying,” Peter said after a second’s quiet.

 

Steve waved his hand.

 

“Oh,” Bucky said quietly.

 

Peter stuck his legs out and tapped his toes against the ceiling, also tapping his hands together. Bucky sighed.

 

“Touchdown in ten,” Tony called over the intercom. “Everyone is required to report to the decontamination showers the second we get back or Pepper will forcibly bleach every damn one of us, according to her text.”

 

“Sounds fair to me,” Bucky sighed.

 

“Great,” Steve muttered, sounding less than thrilled.

 

“The water pressure’s great in the decon showers,” Peter added excitedly, “way better than my bathroom at home.”

 

“Water’s cold,” Steve muttered.

 

“Not that cold,” Bucky defended it.

 

Steve didn’t say anything else. Bucky looked at Peter, who shrugged, and then he sighed again. He was missing something else, and he had no fucking clue what this thing was.

 

*

 

Decon was separated into three areas. The ladies’, the gents’, and Peter’s, since the kid was 16. Natasha had the ladies’ to herself most of the time, unless Wanda or Carol or Maria Hill joined a mission, Peter obviously always had his to himself, but the gents’. Well. The guys’ decon showers were a little cramped.

 

“Wilson, if I get one more eyeful of your bits, I’m reporting you to HR!” Tony shouted at the top of his lungs.

 

“Stop looking, then!” Sam defended.

 

“You were buck ass nude in the middle of the locker room!” Tony screeched.

 

“What’s that about my ass?” Bucky called.

 

Tony just screamed in frustration. Clint and Sam fell over each other laughing, comfortably standing in the same shower stall with nothing more than water spray to hide said bits.

 

“When are you going to expand this thing?” Steve asked, from the stall next over and behind the plastic curtain.

 

“It’s decon, it shouldn’t have to be used as often!” Tony answered in a high-pitched tone.

 

“Dude,” Clint said, leaning onto the wall between his and Tony’s stall. “How often do we use it?”

 

Tony grumbled a little. Bucky absently scrubbed bright orange decontamination soap over his bits.

 

“Uh-huh,” Clint laughed, “hadn't even occurred to you!”

 

“Shuddup!” Tony complained.

 

Bucky shook his head and continued with his shower. There were only four decon stalls; Steve was in the farthest one from him, then Tony’s, then Sam and Clint, and him. Sam, Clint, and Tony usually traded having to share amongst the three of them, which was alright, Bucky appreciated that he didn’t have to stave off panicking about the proximity of other people to his vulnerable bits, but also somewhat odd. Because Steve never volunteered to share; in fact, when the other three complained about lacking enough space, he volunteered to wait until everyone else was done. Might have been part of why he’d been complaining about the cold water, Bucky guessed. The water wasn’t hot, but it wasn’t freezing.

 

“Maybe soon?” Steve suggested.

 

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony muttered. “I’ll put it on the list, right after fixing the leaky faucet.”

 

“What leaky faucet?” Clint asked.

 

“The one on the hundred and thirteenth floor,” Tony said.

 

“Oh,” Clint answered.

 

Sam started sniggering. Bucky glanced around, not getting the joke.

 

“What?” Clint complained.

 

“The tower only has ninety-three floors,” Sam pointed out.

 

“Oh!” Clint gasped. “Oh, I get it!”

 

“Would you like a gold star?” Tony retorted.

 

“Sure!” Clint replied brightly.

 

Tony shut off his water. “Get it yourself,” he said. “I’m out of here.”

 

“Ha!” Clint said happily, darting out of Sam’s stall and taking Tony’s.

 

“MY EYES!” Tony shrieked as Clint streaked.

 

Sam and Clint resumed laughing. Tony walked out, just as buck ass nude as the rest of them, and the showers fell into silence.

 

Sam finished, and then Clint, and Bucky relaxed with the increased distance between them and his vulnerable bits. He started washing in earnest, and as he heard the other guys laughing and making their way out of the locker room, Bucky realized something.

 

He could only hear the one shower running.

 

“Stevie?” Bucky called out.

 

“What?” Steve answered, sounding almost startled.

 

“You okay?” Bucky asked, stepping towards the dividing wall to look in Steve’s direction.

 

He couldn’t see him.

 

“Fine,” Steve insisted. “You?”

 

“Yeah,” Bucky answered distractedly, reaching for the plastic curtain. “Hey, I was thinking, would it be okay if we ordered supper in instead of cooking tonight?” he asked, loudly, like he was trying to be heard over the showers and not over him opening his curtain.

 

“Sure,” Steve said. “Chinese or Indian?”

 

“Indian,” Bucky said, taking careful steps towards the other side of the showers. “Unless you want Chinese.”

 

“No, Indian’s great,” Steve insisted.

 

Bucky reached Steve’s stall and peaked through the gap in the curtain. The shower was shut off. Steve was sitting on a non-slip stool in the middle of the stall and wiping himself down with disposable wipes, it looked like, as he had a trash can full of slime-covered wipes.

 

“Yannow those ain’t gonna get all the bacteria,” Bucky said quietly.

 

Steve jumped almost out of his skin and definitely off the stool. Bucky got a split-second view of his glistening back and thighs before his gaze was locked onto Steve’s midsection. Where his ass was hanging out of three black straps above his ass and over both of his thighs.

 

And holy fucking shit, did Bucky’s brain immediately conjure up strikingly vivid images of sinking his teeth into that gorgeous ass.

 

And then Steve was turning and yanking the curtain across the gap. Bucky jerked back, blinking hard, and grabbed onto the wall to steady himself.

 

“You can’t just do shit like that!” Steve snapped. “What the _fuck,_ Bucky!”

 

“I’m sorry,” Bucky apologized quickly, “I – I could tell you didn’t have the shower going and I was worried –”

 

“That’s my fucking business,” Steve said angrily.

 

“You have to use the decon soap!” Bucky insisted.

 

“I’ve got decon soap in my shower downstairs!” Steve retorted.

 

“That’s not –” Bucky started.

 

“It’s not your business!” Steve cut him off sharply.

 

Bucky backed off, holding his hands out between them even though the curtain was already separating them. “I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I was just worried, pal.”

 

“Don’t be,” Steve retorted.

 

Bucky faltered. He heard Steve let out a heavy sigh, and then the curtain jostled. Bucky backed off again, returning to his own shower.

 

“I didn’t mean that,” Steve said quietly.

 

“Would’a ignored it even if ya did,” Bucky muttered.

 

Steve let out a short chuckle. “Figured,” he answered.

 

“I really am sorry,” Bucky said a third time. “I didn’t – I didn’t mean to peep on you or anything, Steve, I swear –”

 

“It’s okay,” Steve cut him off.

 

“I’m not like that,” Bucky insisted anyway.

 

He heard Steve sigh again.

 

“I know,” Steve answered softly.

 

Bucky faltered again. He still had soap in his hair and over his torso and probably behind his ears. He stepped under the water and just let it start to rinse over him.

 

His therapist kept encouraging him to say something to Steve about the flashes of emotion and urges he got. Bucky’s told her fucking no every damn time. He’d never admit to Steve the things he’d think about him sometimes, never in a million years. He knew it would just make Steve uncomfortable, ruin them one way or another. Steve would either try to pretend it didn’t mean anything or – Bucky didn’t like thinking about it, but he worried sometimes that Steve would just because he wanted his best friend back – Steve would try to pretend that it was okay.

 

But it wasn’t okay. It couldn’t. Bucky would have disgusting, intrusive thoughts about Steve; about gagging him with a tie or his dick, about tying him up and whaling into his ass with a hairbrush or book, calling him a slut or a pretty _little boy_ in fond tones like they were cute pet names. Intrusive thoughts were something that his therapist had explained to him. Those thoughts weren’t okay and Bucky could never look Steve in the eye for a day at least after just one. It was just another thing that Hydra fucked up in him. He would sooner swallow a cyanide fake tooth than tell Steve about any of the awful things he’d think about him sometimes.

 

Bucky finished rinsing and shut the water off. The showers were suddenly plunged into silence, but for the drip of the showerhead still shedding water. Bucky stood still.

 

Steve was still breathing, at least. A little quick, but Bucky had probably pissed him off pretty bad. Bucky turned to go, grabbing a towel on his way out, and he lingered near the doorway into the locker room for a second.

 

“Stevie?” he called gently.

 

“What?” Steve answered shortly.

 

“I’ll –” Bucky started. “I’ll get the usual stuff. Uh, GrubHub, right?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve sighed, sounding tired. “Yeah, I’ll – I’ll be up soon.”

“You should try the water,” Bucky added, almost frustrated but just as tired as Steve sounded. “Those wipes are gonna take forever.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve repeated, sharper.

 

Bucky walked out. He dried off, dressed, and left Steve alone. He still felt guilty about looking into his stall. Steve really had to be mad at him.

 

He forced himself to check his phone for messages before taking the stairs to his and Steve’s apartment. He had a lot, but none of them were emergencies, so Bucky ignored all of them. Well, all but one. The Spiderkid had texted him asking if he minded helping with a question for his history homework, and Bucky didn’t mind that at all. Peter seemed to be the only one these days that didn’t expect he remembered two minutes or less of his life before Hydra.

 

Back in his and Steve’s apartment, Bucky sent Peter the OK and waited for the question to come through. Instead, Peter video-called.

 

Bucky shrugged and answered.

 

 _“Were canned goods easier to buy or dry goods when you were a kid?”_ Peter asked without preamble.

 

“Canned goods,” Bucky said easily. “Stuff for one-pot meals, mostly.”

 

 _“That’s what I thought!”_ Peter answered, waving a hand at Bucky in exasperated triumph. _“But this damn quiz says people ate mostly dry stuff!”_

 

“Tell the quiz the Winter Soldier says it’s wrong,” Bucky replies. “You already back at your aunt’s?”

 

 _“Yep,”_ Peter replied. _“Lots of homework, though, so I can’t really talk much.”_

 

“That’s fine,” Bucky said. “Hey, what are we supposed to watch after the original Star Treks?”

 

 _“The Next Generation,”_ Peter said. _“Or Doctor Who. Or Scooby-Doo.”_

 

“I’ll ask Steve,” Bucky decided, then faltered.

 

Peter glanced back at him. _“You look constipated,”_ he said.

 

“I what?” Bucky questioned.

 

 _“Constipated?”_ Peter suggested. _“Like – Like you really have to, uh, go? But it’s not coming out well?”_

 

Bucky just looked at him.

 

 _“Poop,”_ Peter said.

 

“Oh!” Bucky exhaled. “Oh, no, that’s not a problem.”

 

 _“So, what happened?”_ Peter asked.

 

Bucky hesitated. “It’s not a big deal,” he said. “Finish your homework, kid. Which of the three shows you said is most light-hearted?”

 

 _“Scooby-Doo,”_ Peter said. _“Talking dogs, teenagers solving mysteries. A big floral van with bright pink Mystery Machine painted on it.”_

 

“Right,” Bucky answered. “Thanks, kid. Good luck on your homework.”

 _“Thanks,”_ Peter replied with a wave.

 

The line cut off and Bucky sighed as he put his phone away. He rested a hand on the gun he kept under his shirt and did a quick perimeter check of the apartment, before sitting down at the kitchen table and taking his phone back out to order dinner.

 

Bucky just got the usual stuff, then put his phone down and sat there, waiting. He hoped Steve wouldn’t take too long. He didn’t like Steve being on his own, never had. He checked the time on the stove clock, once, twice, several times over the next thirty minutes. Long enough, that the bell rang and Bucky jumped up to let in the shambling butler robot Tony had assigned him and Steve with their dinner. Bub, as he and Steve had decided to call the little bot, trundled down the hallway and around into the kitchen, while Bucky lingered at the doorway.

 

There was no sign of Steve. It worried Bucky.

 

Bub let out a few trilling beeps and Bucky shut the door to go and help him with the bags. There were only two, but Bub was too short to lift them high enough to put on the table.

 

“Thanks, Bub,” Bucky told him. “Have a pint of oil on us, okay?”

 

Bub beeped and waved his arms, then reversed and started back around the corner to the front door. Bucky followed to let him out, and lingered in the doorway again.

 

He thought about calling. Bucky stood there, looking down the hallway to the elevator. His phone was back on the kitchen table, though, and Steve could come down while Bucky was walking back to grab it. And there was the chance Steve wouldn’t even answer, he could still be trying to towel himself off with those baby wipes.

 

Bucky just waited. He didn’t have a very good grasp of time when there wasn’t a clock around to measure it for him, so he couldn’t say how long he did stand there. But eventually, the elevator opened and Steve stepped out.

 

Bucky didn’t speak up, and Steve walked out with his head down. He didn’t look up until he’d neared the door. His hair was wet.

 

“Oh,” he said, as if he was surprised to see Bucky standing there. “Hey.”

 

“Food’s here,” Bucky admitted.

 

Steve nodded, then slipped past Bucky into the apartment. “I’m not that hungry,” he called as he turned the corner.

 

Bucky shut the door behind them and followed Steve a little slower. He wanted to question him, say that he should eat at least something, but he didn’t want to upset Steve any more than he’d already done.

 

But he could ask about Peter’s homework question. It might cheer Steve up if he thought Bucky had remembered something else from their childhood.

 

“Hey,” Bucky started as Steve went straight into his room, “uh –”

 

“Yes, you apologized already!” Steve interrupted him harshly. “You’re sorry and you didn’t mean to and you regret it, thank you!”

 

Bucky stepped back, blinking hard. Steve drew a long breath and deflated, his back to Bucky with a hand on the door edge.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve offered, his voice quiet. “I – I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

 

Bucky glanced away. Steve’s sharp tone rang in his head. Just on the tip of his tongue, Bucky wanted to snap back; _you need an attitude adjustment,_ and a threat to take Steve over his knee. Bucky swallowed the words, the thoughts. He felt even more guilty now.

 

Steve glanced over his shoulder towards Bucky. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

 

“Yeah,” Bucky said quickly. “I – I’m sorry, too, really. Uh, I’ll – I’ll leave you alone.”

 

Steve dropped his gaze to the floor, then sighed and shut the door behind him. Bucky turned away, stood still for a moment, then shook his head and moved on. He unpacked the takeout bags at last, put everything on the table, then sighed himself and reached up to swipe a hand over his face.

 

“You should eat!” he shouted on impulse. “Food’s hot now.”

 

He didn’t hear anything through the walls, but they were fairly thick. Bucky shook his head again and left to get a plate down for himself. He couldn’t order Steve to eat, even if he wanted to.

 

Bucky served himself and sat in the living room to eat. He put on _Scooby-Doo,_ like Peter had suggested, and picked at his food mostly.

 

Halfway through the episode, Steve emerged from his room again. Bucky put his plate down on the sofa next to him and looked up, just watching him. Steve wandered up to the table, looking down at the takeout containers, then glanced up at Bucky.

 

“Are you okay?” Bucky asked.

 

“Of course,” Steve replied quickly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

 

“Dunno,” Bucky said. “You’ve been acting… odd.”

 

“I’m fine,” Steve told him, like he was insisting.

 

Bucky got up, frowning at him. “You’re not,” he realized. “You’re – you’re upset or you’re angry –”

 

“I’m fine!” Steve repeated loudly.

 

Bucky raised his eyebrows. Steve took in a sharp breath, then looked away and stepped back from the table, reaching up with both hands to grab the back of his head.

 

“Do you want me to go?” Bucky asked a little reluctantly.

 

“No!” Steve said quickly, turning back around with a hand thrown out in Bucky’s direction. “No, I – I’m sorry, I haven’t been… sleeping well, lately. I’m just tired.”

 

“I think you’re a bit more than tired,” Bucky blurted out.

 

Steve scoffed once. He nodded, then sighed and crossed to the cupboards, grabbing a plate. He moved back to the table and started filling it.

 

“I thought you weren’t hungry?” Bucky asked.

 

“You told me to eat,” Steve said flatly.

 

Bucky walked around the sofa and kitchen counter to Steve’s side. He almost raised a hand, to touch Steve’s arm, but pulled back, feeling like it would be inappropriate to touch him. Or even fair, to him or Steve maybe. Bucky avoided touching Steve in private most of the time. It always lead to more intrusive thoughts.

 

“What’s the matter with you?” Bucky pressed in a quiet voice.

 

“Nothing,” Steve claimed.

 

“Just ‘cause I can’t remember much ‘bout us ‘fore the war, don’t mean I can’t tell when you’re lying,” Bucky accused. “What’s wrong?”

 

Steve let out a long breath. Bucky leaned on the table, his left arm hanging at his side.

 

“Steve,” Bucky said.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve answered quickly. “You’ve got enough to deal with –”

 

“So you can’t have any issues?” Bucky interrupted. “Stevie,” he added without finishing.

 

Steve shook his head and raised a hand to rub at his eyes. “Can you drop it?” he asked. “It’s nothing, really.”

 

“Don’t think that worked on me ever,” Bucky responded in a careful voice. “C’mon, you can talk to me.”

 

Steve shook his head again. He let out another long breath and carried on scooping rice and masala onto his plate.

 

“What are you watching?” he asked after a second.

 

“Scooby-Doo,” Bucky sighed in defeat. “Peter said we should watch it, since we finished the original Star Trek.”

 

Steve nodded and grabbed a piece of naan. “Great,” he replied in a forced cheerful voice. “Sounds fun.”

 

Bucky nodded, too. Steve pushed past him and walked around to the couch. Bucky followed him, but much slower. Steve sat at the opposite end that Bucky had been at and started eating, though he was taking only small bites.

 

Bucky sat at the other end. Steve tucked his legs onto the sofa, leaning on the armrest with a few throw pillows tucked under his side. He rested the plate on his knee and scraped at it with his fork.

 

Bucky shook his head and picked up his plate. He couldn’t order Steve to do anything.

 

They didn’t talk much through the show. FRIDAY kept it going, automatically playing the next episode when one was over. Bucky kept watching Steve out of the corner of his eye, but he hardly ate anything. Picked at his plate through the whole time.

 

Partway through the third, Bucky gave up. He picked up his empty plate and got up. He crossed in front of Steve, but as he turned, he hesitated, then sighed and dropped a hand into Steve’s hair.

 

He was trying to give Steve some comfort, that was all he meant. Bucky dropped a hand into Steve’s hair and Steve threw his head back into it and let out a sudden, inhaling gasp.

 

Bucky jerked his hand away and, unbidden as they always fucking came, he had thoughts of bringing that gasp from Steve’s lips in all sorts of ways. Steve’s ears flushed red and Bucky couldn’t stop his brain of imagining how that blush went all the way down his back right to that plump ass, that he’d seen barely two hours ago, framed so beautifully by that black jockstrap. As Bucky yanked his hand away, Steve let out another noise, a hurt one, and Bucky thought of crooning an apology into his ear and making him whimper even more.

 

Bucky bit his tongue, hard. Steve froze, looking dead ahead.

 

 _“I would’a gotten away with it, too!”_ the villain cried on the TV. _“If it weren’t for those meddling kids!”_

 

“Buck?” Steve whispered.

 

“I –” Bucky stammered. “I’m sorry –”

 

Steve put his plate aside and covered his face with both hands. “You’re sorry, yes,” he agreed in a voice that sounded spited almost. “You’ve said that; you’re sorry, you don’t mean it that way, you’re not like that anymore, I get it!”

 

“You are angry,” Bucky realized, pointing a finger at Steve in astonishment. “Because I apologized? Why are you mad at me for apologizing?”

 

“I’m not angry!” Steve hissed, snatching his hands off his face in a manner that was anything but civil. “Can you just drop it!”

 

Bucky just stared at him. Steve sighed and picked his plate up, stood and walked past Bucky to put it in the sink. Bucky shuffled to face him again and raised his hand back in Steve’s direction.

 

“What did you mean, anymore?”

 

Steve froze. Bucky blinked at him. Steve was looking into the sink, his plate halfway into it. Neither of them said anything for a long moment.

 

“I didn’t mean anything,” Steve whispered.

 

“You’re lying,” Bucky snapped. “What are you saying, I _was_ like that before? And you’re just letting me think that I wasn’t?”

 

“No –” Steve started.

 

“Stop lying!” Bucky cut him off angrily. “Steve, what the hell! I’ve been thinking –”

 

Bucky shut up. Steve finally looked up, his eyes wide.

 

“What?” he asked in a breath.

 

Bucky just blinked at him.

 

“You thought what?” Steve pressed.

 

“I thought Hydra…” Bucky mumbled.

 

Steve sucked in a breath and almost took a step back, a hand raising halfway towards his mouth. Bucky blinked at him.

 

“You thought _Hydra_ –?” Steve repeated his words in a hushed voice.

 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Bucky defended. “You don’t know what’s been happening in my head, Hydra messed me up, alright!”

 

Steve’s lower lip trembled. Bucky put his plate down on the counter and took half a step towards him. Steve broke his gaze, however, turned away and covered his eyes with a hand, letting out a sharp breath. Bucky stopped, looking away.

 

“What was I like?” he asked reluctantly.

 

Steve dropped his hand and crossed his arms over his chest, almost hugging himself. He shook his head once, then dropped his gaze and clenched his jaw.

 

“You liked both,” Steve admitted. “You – You didn’t have a preference.”

 

Bucky inhaled slowly. He tore his gaze away from Steve’s face.

 

“I don’t remember that,” he said.

 

Steve nodded. “I didn’t want to push you.”

 

Bucky just nodded absently. He didn’t know what to do.

 

“And whatever you’re like now,” Steve continued in a voice like he was forcing himself to remain calm, “you’re still my friend and I still care about you and I just want you to be… be happy. However that is.”

 

Bucky glanced back towards Steve, then, hesitant, took a step forward and set a hand on the counter. Steve wouldn’t look at him.

 

“What if I was lying?” Bucky whispered.

 

Steve didn’t move just yet. He inhaled, blinked, and then turned slowly in Bucky’s direction but couldn’t make it all the way.

 

“What?” he said in half a voice.

 

“I didn’t want to upset you,” Bucky admitted. “About – about in the showers, I didn’t want you to worry that I was trying to – to catch a glimpse of you. So I said that to…”

 

He gestured vaguely. Steve blinked more, then nodded slowly.

 

“I still wasn’t,” Bucky insisted. “I was only worried that you weren’t showering.”

 

“I did,” Steve blurted. “You told me to, I did –”

 

Bucky frowned at him. Steve glanced up, and then away.

 

“You used the decon shower because I told you to,” Bucky repeated slowly. “You came out here to eat because I told you to. The other day, you skipped your run with Sam because I told you to. Is there a pattern there, Steve? ‘Cause I couldn’t fucking remember that it wasn’t Hydra that turned me into a pansy –”

 

Steve winced and jerked a hand out between them and Bucky cut himself off, swallowing. Steve exhaled, then shook his head sharply.

 

“We had too many fights about that back then,” Steve said. “Please, please don’t talk about it like that.”

 

“ _We?_ ” Bucky repeated.

 

Steve glanced up and then away. He shook his head.

 

“What else am I not remembering?” Bucky demanded. “Were _we_ queer, or whatever the hell the word is?”

 

“I –” Steve started.

 

“Don’t tell me you don’t want to pressure my memory!” Bucky interrupted him angrily. “You know as much as I do that my memory’s not gonna come back the way anybody wants it to, so if you’ve been keeping shit about us from me because you don’t think I’ll still feel the same way –”

 

“How do I know how you feel?” Steve interrupted him, finally looking up and meeting his eyes.

 

“Well, how the hell do I know if you won’t tell me?” Bucky answered loudly, spreading his hands in a desperate gesture as Steve bit his lip. “I clearly can’t tell the difference between what really happened and what Hydra put in my head!”

 

“They didn’t put anything in your head!” Steve tried to say.

 

“They put plenty in my head!” Bucky corrected him. “You don’t know what’s in my head!”

 

“But you’re better!” Steve insisted. “Anything that’s left –”

 

“What the hell were we?” Bucky demanded.

 

Steve faltered, his eyes wide. Bucky closed the distance between them and put a finger out towards him in a stern stance.

 

“What the hell were we?” he asked again. “Tell me the truth this time, punk. Tell me what’s in my head is just my fucked up imagination.”

 

“What’ve you been imagining?” Steve asked quietly.

 

Bucky opened his mouth but couldn’t admit it. Steve frowned at him, lips still parted, and Bucky blew out his breath hard and turned away.

 

“Fucking goddammit,” Bucky hissed under his breath, dropping his hands onto his hips.

 

“Yes,” Steve blurted.

 

Bucky jerked around again, eyebrows drawn together hard and his mouth half-open and pushed into a frown. Steve swallowed nothing hard.

 

“Yes,” he repeated, quieter this time. “We were.”

 

“We were what?” Bucky demanded.

 

Steve dropped his gaze, looking ashamed. “Lovers,” he confessed.

 

Bucky couldn’t think of any reply. His eyebrows lifted and his mouth opened, but he had no words. Steve looked both relieved and regretful that he’d said it.

 

“How –” Bucky started.

 

“Since we were kids,” Steve answered before Bucky could finish. “Always. We – we broke up, I guess, a few times in our late teens, early twenties, but by the war – When we went to war, we were – But it wasn’t – it wasn’t _them_ and you’re not fucked up!”

 

Bucky grabbed his hair. He’d always insisted that the dirty thoughts he had about Steve were his imagination, refused to admit that they resembled the flashes of memory he had about everything else, maintained that it had to be Hydra’s influence on him that made him crave _hurting_ Steve to get off.

 

“I have to be,” Bucky exhaled. “It _had_ to be them –”

 

“Please,” Steve cut him off. “Please don’t ask me anymore. I know you’re not the same as you were back then and I don’t want you to be –”

 

“Why not?” Bucky asked. “Why can’t I ask you more?”

 

“You’re not the same!” Steve insisted. “You don’t want it to be the way it was back then, I’m okay with that!”

 

“How was it back then?” Bucky asked again.

 

He closed the distance between them again and Steve almost backed up into the stove. Bucky grabbed his arms and Steve’s eyes widened, but Bucky refused to back off this time.

 

“What were we?” Bucky pressed him. “Tell me the truth, Stevie, tell me I’m not remembering –”

 

“I don’t know what you’re remembering!” Steve insisted.

 

“Did you cry?” Bucky demanded. “Did I make you cry and get off on it?”

 

Steve’s eyes widened. Bucky held his breath, waiting for him to shake his head.

 

But Steve nodded.

 

Bucky let go of him and staggered backwards, hitting a chair and stumbling to catch himself. Steve covered his mouth with both hands and sagged against the counters, his socked feet almost sliding out from under him. Bucky couldn’t breathe.

 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky exhaled.

 

Steve lowered his hands slowly. “ _Sorry?_ ” he repeated quietly.

 

“I hurt you,” Bucky said. “I – I got no excuse –”

 

“You don’t remember –?” Steve started.

 

“I don’t know what I remember!” Bucky shouted.

 

“I liked it!” Steve shouted back.

 

Bucky drew himself up, thrown for a loop. Steve half-glared at him, half pleaded with his eyes.

 

“We had a homosexual affair and you'd hit me and I liked it,” Steve confessed. “I loved it. I loved you.”

 

“Do you still?” Bucky asked breathlessly, wondering if there was even any hope of hope.

 

Steve dropped his gaze. “It’s not the same,” he just repeated. “I – I’m okay with that, it’s enough that you’re here and you’re okay –”

 

“Do you still?” Bucky asked again quickly.

 

Steve sighed and looked around in a defeated stance. He shrugged and then nodded.

 

“What we have now is enough –” he tried to say.

 

“Fuck having enough,” Bucky cut him off in a sigh.

 

Steve looked up sharply. His eyes were guarded, like _he_ didn’t want to hope anymore. Bucky had to admit, it was fair. After Project Insight, Bucky wandered Europe for the better part of two years before letting Steve finally catch up with him again. It had taken months after that for him to feel comfortable sharing an apartment with him, before he warmed up to the other Avengers, before he felt even like half of a human being anymore. Steve had been on his own for years. He had every right to not want to hope anymore.

 

“Fuck that,” Bucky repeated. “Do you want things to be the way they were? Can we go back?”

 

“Can –” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky stepped closer again. Steve pressed against the counter, holding onto it with white knuckles.

 

“You wanted everything I did to you?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve nodded sharply.

 

“I never really hurt you?” Bucky pressed.

 

“No,” Steve said. “You never _hurt_ me. You healed me.”

 

Bucky reached out, just holding out his right hand. Steve glanced down at his hand, then up at his face. His eyebrows drew together a little and his lips turned down at the corners and his eyes narrowed slightly. Like he was still trying not to hope.

 

“Don’ keep it t’a yourself no more,” Bucky told him. “Can we go back?”

 

Steve took his left hand off the counter. He lifted it, hesitated, and then pushed it out and put it in Bucky’s. Bucky took another step in and lifted Steve’s hand to his lips, kissed his knuckles, and then put it on his shoulder. Steve peeled away from the counter and took a couple of shuffling steps forward to close the distance between them. He still looked cautious.

 

“Don’t do this if you don’t mean it,” Steve said quietly. “I really am okay with us now. It’s okay. I’m happy like this –”

 

“You’re not,” Bucky cut him off. “We’ll get back t’a what’s the matter with you tonight in a second, believe me. I mean it.”

 

Steve let his breath out slowly. He looked at Bucky questioningly and nodded once, like he was again asking for confirmation. Bucky cupped his waist, using his right hand only, and tugged him in a little. Steve was just a little bit taller than him and he had to look up to keep their gazes locked.

 

“Can I hug you?” Steve asked quietly.

 

Bucky smiled a little. “Sure you can, punk,” he murmured. “I ain’t stabbed nobody over a hug in weeks.”

 

Steve lifted his other hand and put it hesitantly over Bucky’s shoulder. Then he shuffled in, until their noses were almost brushing, and finally, he pressed in the last inch and buried his face in Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky put his whole arm around Steve’s back, holding him in tightly to encourage Steve to squeeze him back. He didn’t mind, really. It was almost a surprise how easily Bucky had warmed up to Steve’s touch, when back when he’d first let the Avengers take him in, he’d nearly gutted Sam the first time he patted his shoulder. But Bucky had trusted that Steve was safe within days.

 

Maybe that said something. He remembered as much about Natasha as he did about Steve, but he’d felt the need to try to kill Natasha the first time he saw her, and with Steve, he’d only ever wanted to sling his arm around him and bring him in close.

 

Steve started to tremble. Bucky kept his left hand at his side, not wanting to touch Steve with it, but he raised his right hand up and cupped the back of his neck. He’d thought about squeezing the back of Steve’s neck and making him sigh and go limp, and apparently, it was a memory, so it had to have some meaning. Bucky cupped the back of Steve’s neck, just like he remembered, and squeezed gently.

 

Steve sighed into his shoulder and his weight fell a little more into Bucky’s. His shoulders dropped, his head settled a little more on Bucky’s shoulder. He went limp, just like Bucky had remembered and not imagined.

 

“Tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable?” Steve asked quietly. “Don’t push yourself just ‘cause you think I want it.”

 

“Somethin’ gives me the feelin’ that that’s my line,” Bucky murmured.

 

Steve laughed a little. Then he turned his head and pressed it into Bucky’s neck instead, hugging him a little tighter. Bucky had the impulse to kiss Steve’s neck, and apparently, that wasn’t something perverted in him, so he did it. He pressed his lips to a taut tendon in Steve’s neck and let his lips linger there for a moment.

 

“What’s got you shakin’, baby?” Bucky whispered into his neck.

 

Steve surged closer somehow. He locked his arms around Bucky’s neck and pressed their whole bodies together.

 

“Call me that again,” he begged quietly. “Call me your baby again.”

 

Bucky pulled Steve in just as tightly as Steve was pulling on him. “Baby,” he murmured.

 

Steve let out a sound that was almost a sob.

 

“Baby,” Bucky repeated thickly. “Sweetheart, doll, pretty little boy.”

 

Steve did sob. Bucky began to rock him gently where they stood.

 

“I’ve got you, baby,” he promised. “I’m not letting go. My baby.”

 

“I wasn’t okay,” Steve choked out. “It wasn’t okay! You never touched me and you never looked at me, I – I hated it –”

 

“You should’a told me,” Bucky chastised him gently. “Should’a told me you needed me, babydoll.”

 

“‘M sorry,” Steve stammered. “I didn’t want to pressure you, thought you didn’t remember –”

 

“I remember,” Bucky assured him. “I remember enough.”

 

Steve nodded into his neck. “I’m sorry, James,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry –”

 

Bucky shushed him gently. Steve was breathing hard and Bucky was about to encourage him to slow down, before he remembered Steve didn’t have asthma anymore. How dumb was that? Bucky almost laughed; Steve was broad under his arm and tall enough that he had to tuck his head down to hide it in Bucky’s neck.

 

“I’m sorry,” Steve stammered again.

 

“Do you want to be punished?” Bucky asked.

 

Steve stilled. Bucky hadn't thought the offer through, but from what he remembered, it made sense. He just waited.

 

Steve broke again and nodded. “Please,” he begged, “I need to be punished, sir, I need your forgiveness.”

 

“Shh,” Bucky murmured again. “It’s alright, baby, calm down, okay?”

 

“Punish me,” Steve mumbled absently.

 

“I will,” Bucky promised. “I’ll – I’ll punish you properly, okay?”

 

Steve was shaking still, but he pressed a kiss to Bucky’s neck. Bucky decided that it’d been long enough since he properly kissed Steve last and reached for his cheek to bring his head up. Steve lifted it and Bucky cupped his cheek and brought their lips together.

 

Steve grabbed onto Bucky’s hair with both hands. He pressed their bodies together everywhere and opened his mouth for Bucky unprompted. Bucky kissed him with every fantasy he’d had that was really a memory in mind. God, was he stupid. He’d thought he’d been fantasizing about Steve both pre- and post-serum. Of course they were memories.

 

Bucky would punish Steve and make him feel better. He didn’t know what was going to happen after that, but he wasn’t going to leave Steve alone again. From the snippets and flashes in his mind, Bucky knew that a punishment meant a belt. And that Steve would be vulnerable and needy after. After, he would need to hold him and comfort and love him.

 

Loving him was easy. Bucky could say that he’d been doing that the whole time.

 

The kiss broke and Bucky held Steve close still, their noses still brushing. Steve was panting, his eyes still shut. Bucky drew in a deep breath, then kissed Steve’s lips one more time and dropped his hand to his arm.

 

“C’mon,” he murmured. “Let’s go to your room, okay?”

 

Steve nodded. Bucky pulled him gently past the table and into his bedroom. Steve flipped the light on as they entered and the ceiling fan automatically began to spin. Their rooms were identical, but Steve’s was flipped; the closet and nightstand to the right of the bed, so perhaps they were symmetrical. Bucky pushed Steve onto the bed, and then went into the closet to grab a belt; both of them were wearing sweatpants, but Bucky could remember pulling his belt from the loops and watching Steve’s pupils get big. Steve tracked him with familiar big eyes as Bucky left the closet again, belt in hand.

 

“You’re sure you want this?” Bucky asked him one more time.

 

Steve nodded quickly. “I need it,” he admitted softly.

 

“Tell me to stop if you’re nervous or if it hurts,” Bucky said quickly, walking up to him slowly.

 

“We had a special word,” Steve admitted, looking up at Bucky now. “I said _Leviticus_ if I was scared.”

 

“Leviticus?” Bucky repeated, confused.

 

Steve shrugged, smiling in a dry manner. “It’s a Bible book, laws for the Hebrews in the old days. Leviticus eighteen twenty-two was something the priest told me to memorize the first time I confessed having homosexual thoughts about you.”

 

“Did you?” Bucky asked. “What was it?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve admitted. “ _‘You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination.’_ ”

 

“Oh,” Bucky said, regretting asking it.

 

“Didn’t do much good,” Steve added with that same dry smile.

 

Bucky copied it, touching Steve’s face again. “Good thing for me,” he agreed.

 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Steve said. “I looked it up once a year or two ago. It’s more about the Hebrews needing to avoid adultery and pagan worship in Canaan.”

 

“Oh,” Bucky repeated. “Well, whatever that’s about. You’ll say Leviticus if you need to stop?”

 

Steve nodded. “And you can, too,” he added. “Don’t do anything because you think I want it.”

 

Bucky cupped Steve’s face. “I won’t,” he agreed. “And you can touch me, okay? I’ll tell you if I need you not to.”

 

Steve reached up and gripped Bucky’s wrist, smiling at him. Bucky leaned down and kissed his forehead.

 

“Are you ready for your punishment?” he asked quietly.

 

Steve nodded. “Yes, sir.”

 

Bucky let him go and backed up. “Stand,” he said.

 

Steve pushed to his feet, hands going behind his back as if by habit. Parade rest; Bucky remembered that. He could only remember seeing Steve do it after the serum, however.

 

“Over here,” Bucky said, gesturing Steve forward.

 

Steve moved and Bucky swapped with him, sitting down on the bed instead. Steve stood within arm’s length of him, still at rest, waiting.

 

Bucky looked up at him. “You have to take your clothes off,” he said quietly. “Are you okay with that?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answered quickly. “It’s more than okay.”

 

“Then do it,” Bucky told him with a nod. “Make sure you put them away properly when you’re done.”

 

Steve took his hands out from behind his back and grabbed the neck of his shirt. He tugged it off, revealing his sculpted torso, and moved on to his sweats immediately after. When he stepped out of those, Bucky’s eyes fixed on his underwear.

 

It looked like he was still wearing the jockstrap.

 

“Turn around,” Bucky ordered quickly.

 

Steve straightened up, holding his pants and shirt, and then turned on the spot as his ears and face went pink. That blush did go all the way down his back, and he was still wearing the jockstrap. His ass was beautifully framed by it, and he was also wearing a pair of white socks that went all the way up to his thighs, further drawing the eye to his plump buttocks.

 

“Keep the rest of it on,” Bucky decided impulsively. “Put your dirty clothes away.”

 

Steve ducked his head and nodded, walking over to the closet. Bucky waited while he put his clothes in the hamper, assuming that it was the same as the one in his closet like everything else, and Steve returned a second later. Bucky cleared his throat, then pulled the belt through his left hand and pointed to the bed.

 

“Bend over,” he told Steve. “Feet shoulder-width apart.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answered, his voice quiet.

 

Steve put his hands on the bed first, then shifted to his elbows and settled his torso on the foot of the bed. He leaned down, but the bed was too low for him to rest his torso on it easily, so he bent his knees, though he still couldn’t fully kneel. Bucky crossed behind him, watching him, and Steve stretched his arms above his head, turning his cheek to rest on the blanket.

 

Bucky pulled the length of the belt through his left hand again, looking at Steve’s ass. Half-kneeling with his arms above his head, the muscles of his shoulders and back were stretched out, shadows lining the curves of his muscle definition. As Bucky just watched him, Steve turned his head to face him, he pushed his toes into the rug and lifted his ass up, arching his back. The jockstrap framed globes of his ass beautifully, just drawing the eye in to his pale skin, hairless at first glance, but Bucky took a few steps closer, looking down at him, and made out soft, blonde fuzz over his ass and thighs, thickening and lengthening closer to his knees and calves.

 

The urge to touch was strong. Bucky could say he always wants to get his hands on Steve at any given time, but now he has the permission to give in.

 

Bucky put the belt in his left hand and the buckle clinked against his metal fingers. Steve let out a small whimper and Bucky moved faster; he knelt next to Steve, hushing him softly, and touched his flesh palm comfortingly to the small of Steve’s back.

 

Steve’s whimper turned into a low whine.

 

“Shh,” Bucky murmured, smoothing his hand back and forth across Steve’s back. “It’s alright, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’re being forgiven, baby, you are a good boy.”

 

Steve sucked in his breath and nodded several times very quickly. Bucky glances down and runs his hand down, over the first strap of Steve’s underwear, down to cup his asscheek.

 

“Please,” Steve said quietly. “James, please punish me.”

 

Bucky stood up again and, running his hand up Steve’s spine, gripped the back of his neck. Steve let his breath out again and visibly melted into the blanket, his breathing coming slower. Bucky shushes him again, gently tightening his grip.

 

“There you go,” Bucky said, still speaking quietly. “It’s alright.”

 

Steve nodded, relaxed this time. Bucky let go of his neck and straightened up, passing the belt back into his right hand. He stepped back and wrapped it around his hand, securing the buckle at the back of his hand and out of harm’s way. He folded it in half and gave it a testing swipe in the air.

 

On the bed, Steve sucked his breath in.

 

“It’s alright,” Bucky reminded him, “relax.”

 

Steve nodded a third time. Bucky tested the belt in the air a few more times, then, still cautious, hit himself in the thigh to gauge the power of his stroke. Steve was watching him, his eyes hooded; he looked blissed already, Bucky had barely touched him.

 

“Are you ready?” Bucky asked.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve answered softly with a slow nod.

 

“I’m only going to hit you five times,” Bucky decided, not sure he could go much further than that. “Then your punishment will be over and you’ll be forgiven. Do you understand?”

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve repeated.

 

Bucky closed the distance between them. He lifted the folded belt and started just stroking the leather over Steve’s skin. After a moment, he heard Steve let out a long, slow exhale and glanced up to check his expression. Still calm, relaxed. Bucky pulled his hand back and thumped the belt gently on Steve’s ass and for the first time, Steve jolted.

 

“Stay relaxed,” Bucky told him. “I’m taking care of you.”

 

“I know, sir,” Steve murmured, “I trust you.”

 

Bucky was feeling a lot of things. He was almost overwhelmed; he was concerned about Steve’s behavior, he wanted to comfort him, he wanted to stripe Steve’s ass in pretty red lines and make sure Steve knew how gorgeous he looked taking it. Mostly, he felt love. Steve was so vulnerable, he needed so much, and he trusted Bucky to give it to him. That just made him want to give his baby everything in the world.

 

Bucky drew his arm back and lashed the folded belt across Steve’s ass. Steve cried out and grabbed onto the blanket with both hands, gathering bunches of it in his fists. Bucky swept the length belt over Steve’s ass again, just stroking it.

 

“That’s one,” he said. “You okay?”

 

Steve nodded slowly. “Good,” he mumbled. “‘M good, James.”

 

Bucky nodded to himself and readied himself to strike again. He caressed Steve’s ass, watching his skin pink up more and more from the contact and the first lash. He braced himself, drew his arm back, and brought it down, swishing through the air to smack against Steve’s skin with a resounding crack.

 

Steve gasped and whimpered and arched his ass back out. Bucky stroked his skin with the belt again, soothing the original sting.

 

“Two,” he murmured. “Three more.”

 

Steve relaxed again, melting into the bed. Bucky caressed his ass with the belt slowly, leisurely, then brought it back and hit him again. This time, Steve jolted and stuck his ass back out, but remained quiet.

 

“Three,” Bucky said. “You’re being such a good boy, sweetheart.”

 

Steve whimpered now. Bucky let him have another second to breathe, then brought the belt against his ass for the next strike.

 

“Four,” he continued. “Good boy, Stevie, you’re a good boy.”

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve exhaled.

 

“One more,” Bucky said.

 

Steve hardly reacted. Bucky hesitated, watching him again. Steve was breathing deeply and slowly, his face slack and peaceful. Bucky was ready to stop and just hold him, but he’d promised five lashes, and, as far as Bucky could remember or guess, it was the consequence that Steve needed, not the pain.

 

“One more,” Bucky repeated softly, raising the belt again.

 

Steve inhaled sharply with the blow. Bucky tossed the belt onto the floor and dropped down onto the bed, sitting on his hip. He tugged his shirt off and, leaning down on his metal elbow, he stretched his flesh hand across Steve’s back.

 

“Hey,” Bucky murmured, “c’mere?”

 

Steve opened his eyes, blinking. He seemed to take a moment to even process that Bucky said anything at all. He blinked at Bucky for a moment, and then he smiled and twisted onto his side to reach out, pressing to Bucky’s chest. Bucky rubbed his hand up and down Steve’s back and kissed the top of his head.

 

“It’s over,” Bucky said into Steve’s hair. “All done. No more hiding what’s upsetting you, you hear? If you’re hurting or you need something, you have to tell me. Okay?”

 

Steve nodded a little. He wrapped an arm around Bucky’s waist and pressed close, squeezing his grip tight. Bucky awkwardly tried to hug him better, then twisted onto his back and pulled on Steve’s arm. Steve lay down next to him and rested his head on Bucky’s chest.

 

Bucky hovered his left hand over Steve’s shoulder, but was reluctant to touch him with it. Steve stretched an arm over Bucky’s chest, then shifted and climbed on top of him. He was trembling, his breathing was quickening, and Bucky knew he needed touch to comfort him. The metal hand, however, was bloody. Bucky didn’t want it to touch Steve.

 

“Hey,” Bucky murmured, “let’s lie down under the blankets, okay?”

 

Steve nodded. He rolled off of Bucky again and turned onto his front, crawling up the bed. Bucky got up fully and walked up the length of the bed, pulling the blankets down for Steve. Steve climbed under them and lay down, then wordlessly held his hands out. Bucky put a knee on the bed, then paused. Steve was still on his left.

 

“Sir?” Steve prompted him.

 

“I need to be on the other side,” Bucky decided. “You can’t be on my left.”

 

Bucky pulled his knee back, fully intending to cross the room so Steve would be safe from his metal arm. But Steve pushed up into a kneeling position and grabbed his wrists; both of them.

 

“Lie down,” Steve said gently. “Please?”

 

Bucky hesitated still. Steve tugged on his hands a little.

 

“I know,” Steve blurted then. “You think your arm’s evil, don’t you?”

 

“It’s a weapon,” Bucky mumbled.

 

Steve pulled on his hands and Bucky put a knee back on the bed to catch himself.

 

“I like it,” Steve told him. “You can make it a good thing with me, for me.”

 

“But it’s a weapon,” Bucky insisted. “Steve, don’t – you don’t have to –”

 

“Like my asthma,” Steve added. “Do you remember that? You helped me accept that I was weak and sickly because I was meant to need you.”

 

Bucky glanced down at his metal hand. Steve lifted it with both hands, folded his fingers, and pressed a kiss to the cold knuckles. Bucky’s brain registered the pressure from his touch and his lips, vague heat, but not much else.

 

“Lie down,” Steve murmured again.

 

Bucky climbed onto the bed, a little dazed. Steve sat back so Bucky could lie down, then as he lay his head down on the pillow, Steve pushed up and swung a leg over his hips. Bucky held very still.

 

“Touch me,” Steve told him, setting his hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “Please.”

 

Bucky lifted hands and, with intent, he rested both flesh and metal hands on Steve’s hips. Steve slid his hands down from Bucky’s shoulders to rest them on his biceps; flesh and blood and wire and gear.

 

“I need you,” Steve said, his voice low and gentle, “and you need me. That’s how it’s always been.”

 

 

Bucky lifted his hand up to wrap around the back of Steve’s neck and pulled gently. Steve folded down over his chest, resting his head in Bucky’s neck, and Bucky wrapped both arms around him to hold him close.

 

“You’re mine,” Bucky murmured.

 

Steve nodded. “You’re mine.”

 

Steve unfolded his legs from under him. Bucky pulled the blanket up and they turned onto their sides, Steve still ending up on Bucky’s right, but Bucky let his metal arm drape over Steve’s waist. Steve kept his head close to Bucky’s neck and Bucky rested his right hand in his hair, slowly and gently petting him.

 

“You’re okay?” Bucky asked softly.

 

Steve nodded into Bucky’s collarbone. He was breathing slowly now, deep and easy. Steve’s asthma was something Bucky remembered best of his life before Hydra, and feeling him breathing easily now gave Bucky a sense of comfort and achievement. He’d done good by Steve, treated him well, and now Steve felt good. That was enough for him.

**Author's Note:**

> _i had so much fun bringing this art to life, hand to god. thanks so much to winter_sergeant for making this in the first place and to the CapRBB team for putting all this together. i'll see y'all in the next one._
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> _you can find more of me here on ao3, on[tumblr](http://moonythejedi394.tumblr.com/) or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/moonythejedi394). you can find more of my boo sergeant on [tumblr](https://winter-sergeant.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/winter_sergeant)._


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